Watchers on the Wall
by CosmicImbalance
Summary: Jon Snow and Lyanna Mormont find themselves on Winterfell's northern wall, watching the last sunset before the Long Night. Because I need closure. Set during SE8E2. A bit OOC.


This will be Lyanna Mormont's last sunset, though she doesn't know it yet.

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It is sunset, and Lyanna Mormont finds herself on Winterfell's north-facing wall with Jon Snow. She had come up with the intention of surveying the trench as her men supped, but she found herself watching the sky. It is a pale, beautiful blue. A winter sky, the color of a winter rose. The clouds are long hazy streaks high above them, and the light of the setting sun paints them in a wash of gold, rose, and orange-like fire, high in the heavens. If she were sentimental, she would say it was beautiful. If she were devout, she would say it was a sign. She is neither, and she only thinks that it is good that there will be no clouds to block the moonlight.

But then, Jon Snow said that the White Walkers brought the storm with them, so perhaps there would be clouds after all. His eyes are fixed out on the black-green of the wolfswood in the distance-where the army of the dead will likely make its approach. "Winter is coming," he murmurs to himself.

"Here we stand," she says her own words. He starts a little.

"Forgive me, Lady Lyanna, I hadn't noticed your arrival," he says, bowing slightly. There is an odd look on his face as he says her name.

She gave a dismissive wave. "I suppose you came up here to think alone, my lord?" She does not refrain from adding a little bite to his title.

"I came to see how the last of the fortifications have come together. I suppose I became a bit lost in my thoughts," he said.

"Well your words are as good as any to think on," she sniffs. "My mother always said the Starks always have the right of it in the end."

"House Mormont's words are best suited now, I think. Winter has come. And now here we stand, all of us," says Snow.

"Are we all going to die, standing here? I'm not afraid to, but do you think we will?" she asks him bluntly.

"Well, we have a plan," he starts.

"Aye, and I recall how well that worked out during the battle of the bastards," Lyanna snipes. She had lost nine of her men, but it could easily have been more.

Snow winces. "Fortunately, this time we are the ones playing the trick. The Night King will not play games like Ramsey Bolton. Unfortunately, I don't think any knights in shining armor will swoop in to save us at the last moment."

"So you think we are going to die," she says.

"With the Wall broken, we are the shield that guards the realms of men, my lady. If we fail, then Westeros falls. If we are no match, then neither is Cersei Lannister's Golden Company. We've left too many battlefields full of dead these past few years, and the numbers the White Walkers could raise would be even more unstoppable. It is our duty to the world to live. Mayhap our plan will fail. Mayhap the Queen's dragons will fall from the sky. Mayhap Winterfell and everyone in it will be destroyed. But mayhap not. We can only hope to live and fulfil our duty. That hope is our light in this darkness. If we lose that hope, then we are lost," says Snow.

Lyanna eyes him. His somber, taciturn speech makes him sometimes makes him seem lackwitted, but then he'll say something remarkable like it is nothing at all. "Is that something your father once told you?" she asks.

Snow goes very still. "No," he says after a moment, suddenly as close-mouthed as he had been verbose a moment before. He looks back out over the battlements. But Lyanna isn't going anywhere.

"Did you bend the knee to the Dragon Queen because you love her?" asks Lyanna.

"'Love is the death of duty,'" quotes Snow. "My father didn't say that. Maester Aemon did, at Castle Black, when I learned that my father had been killed and that my brother was marching south."

"You wanted to join him."

"Aye, and I nearly did. But I had already taken my vows. My sworn brothers convinced me to stay."

"Do you regret that now?" she asks.

Snow frowns. "Yes. And no. If I had deserted, maybe I could have made a difference. Mayhap I could have convinced him not to break his oath to Walder Frey and he would still be alive. But who would I be then, to advise him to abandon love for duty, when I had abandoned duty for love? Then, of course, I might have walked into the Red Wedding myself and perished. Either way, what would have happened at the Wall? The wildlings might have never gotten through. The army of the dead would have been even larger, and our number would have been fewer. I have made choices both good and poor in the past, but I cannot change them now, so I try not to regret too much, though it is difficult."

"I regret my mother and sisters marching south with King Robb," says Lyanna, bitter.

"I regret that King Robb marched south at all," says Snow. "I regret my lord father accepted the position of Hand of the King. I regret all that has befallen my family and all the families in the North."

"I regret that Cersei Lannister fucked her brother," says Lyanna, startling a laugh from Snow.

"Aye. And see: Ser Jamie and Cersei abandoned their duties for their love, and Westeros has paid the price," Snow pointed out. "Robb fell in love and forgot his duty and died for it. So did Rhaegar Targaryen, and he died as well."

Lyanna frowns. "You make it sound as if love causes naught but suffering."

"Love causes happiness, and joy, and contentment, but it will always make you suffer for it. Death comes for us all. Circumstance tears you apart. Pain is the price you must pay for allowing love into your heart. Yet, if we do not love, then we are no different than the unfeeling dead. Choosing duty over love does not mean that one should not love, it means that one must accept the pain of it for the greater good rather than indulging in the joy of it, when indulgence might cause greater suffering to others," says Snow.

"Yet you chose love, and tied the North to the Dragon Queen, when it means we might have to march off to war again. You had a duty to us, and you abandoned it for her," points out Lyanna.

"I think I loved her," says Snow. "And I will allow that it may have influenced my decision. But it is not truly the North that I have a duty to. I do not have a duty to the Stark name or to Robb's crown. I swore that I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I swore to wear no crowns and win no glory. I swore to be the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls, the shield that guards the realms of men. My watch as Lord Commander has ended, and I do not wear the black. But that is my duty, to keep you and all the rest alive. I accepted the crown, true, and the duties that came with it. I didn't want to bend the knee, because you all put your faith in me to lead you as best I could, and I did not want to dishonor that charge. I didn't want to enlist you in a foreigner's war. But when I was at the Wall, the Free Folk had placed their faith in Mance Rayder. They had crowned him king. When Stannis captured him, he was given the opportunity to bend the knee. The Free Folk would have been permitted to go south. To fight for Stannis, but to go south all the same. Mance refused, and he burned for it, and the wildlings remained north of the Wall. Before that, I asked him how many would die for his pride, and he told me that if he bent the knee, his people would no longer follow him. He kept his dignity, and his people were massacred at Hardhome by the wights. When I was on Dragonstone, I convinced Queen Daenerys that the White Walkers were coming, and she asked me the same question. When I went north of the Wall to capture the wight we showed to Cersei, Tormund asked me the same question. I will admit that I was proud to be your king. But I would not have all of you die for it. I am not afraid to lose the esteem of the North, my lady, though I am sorry to have broken your trust."

Lyanna crosses her arms. "I still think you are a fool, Jon Snow."

"Well then, perhaps it is best I am no longer king, then. Who is more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?" he says, smiling down at her. He adds, "And that _is _something my father used to say."

But Lyanna does not smile back. She looks up at him, deadly serious. "Bear Island and House Mormont lost so very much in the War of the Five Kings. I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to mean that my house would never have to march past the Neck to fight mad southron kings ever again. 'We know no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark.' You told me Stannis Baratheon showed you that letter."

"And as you reminded me when I spoke of that letter to you, my name is Snow. Even so, I, too, do not wish for any Northern houses to have to march south. If we survive the night, I will petition the Queen to release us from that task. White Walkers or no, winter is still here and our priority must be keeping our people fed until spring, not leaving them to starve while we march south with whatever is left of our armies," says Snow.

"But what if she is mad as her father and makes us go anyway?" asks Lyanna.

"If I thought her mad, I definitely would not have kneeled for her. I think if she were mad, King's Landing would already be a smoldering ruin, I would already be ash, and she would be flying North to offer you a choice between death by ice or death by fire. I believe she will see reason, in the end, as she did when I asked her to help us fight the army of the dead," says Snow.

"Alright, perhaps she is not mad," Lyanna allows. "But I will never trust a dragon and I still think you foolish for following the woman who is both daughter of the man who burned your grandfather and uncle and sister to the man who kidnapped and raped your aunt-my namesake."

"That's not what happened," says Jon abruptly.

"What are you talking about?" asks Lyanna, confused. "That's how Robert's Rebellion started. Everyone knows."

"Rhaegar didn't kidnap Lyanna, and he didn't rape her," he says, refusing to meet her eyes, staring out over the battlements. "You see, everyone agrees Lyanna was a beauty, but she also had the wolfsblood. She was a fighter. Like Arya, or you. She would have never let herself be taken."

"Are you saying your aunt went _willingly?" _asks Lyanna, shocked.

"Aye. She and Rhaegar fell in love at the tourney at Harrenhall. They ran together. Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell, and he and Lyanna wed on the Isle of Faces."

"But...why does everyone say she was stolen and raped? Why was there a war?" asks Lyanna, struggling.

"Because neither of them told anyone. They knew they would be stopped because Lyanna was betrothed and Rhaegar was married, so they only trusted the septon who married them and a few members of the kingsguard, who are sword to keep the secrets of the royal family. My grandfather and uncle went to petition for Lyanna's return, but instead of speaking to his son, Aerys burned them alive. And then the war started and it was too late," says Snow. "Rhaegar was killed at the Trident by Robert, and Lyanna perished in the Tower of Joy, along with the kingsguard who knew their secret."

"But then how do you know they were in love? Did your father find the septon afterwards?"

"No, Lord Eddard made it to the Tower before Lyanna died. There, she gave her and Rhaegar's child to him, and made him promise that he would protect the babe always, before dying in her birthing bed." He lets out a long, shuddering sigh, then continues. "Eddard knew that Robert would kill the babe, like he did the others, so he took the boy back to Winterfell and raised him as his bastard son."

Lyanna's eyes flew wide with shock. "You…"

Snow nods. "I have the Stark look and the Stark blood. But my name, my true name, is Aemon Targaryen. And I swear to you, my lady, I learned of this only last night. It was not my intention to deceive you or anyone else."

"But that means the Dragon Queen is your aunt. And...and you have a stronger claim to the Iron Throne," stammers Lyanna. She feels colder than she was a moment ago.

Snow-Targaryen?-winces. "I have no interest in the throne, my lady. Any throne, truly. I plan to tell my aunt shortly and reassure her she will not receive any contest from me. After the battle, I will inform the rest of the Northern Lords, and you can decide if Sansa, Arya, or Bran would make a better Warden of the North."

"Wait, who else knows this, Jon Snow?" she asks, for a moment forgetting that Snow is not his name any more than Stark is, now.

"Bran and Samwell Tarly. They discovered the secret and Sam told me last night. And now you know, of course, my lady," he adds.

"You told me before you told your sisters?" she asks, shocked again. "Why?"

He makes a face. "I suppose they are my cousins now. I told you because...well, I didn't quite mean to tell you everything, my lady. But...I heard that you refuse to go down to the crypts. I wanted you to know that you do my mother's name great honor, and I thank you for that. For everything that you have done to support me, truly. You are still only three and ten, yet you are the fiercest lady in Westeros, excepting perhaps Arya and Sansa." His smile is small and sad as he adds, "And again, I am sorry that I failed to reward your faith in me."

Lyanna hardly knew what to say. "You're not going to tell me to go down to the crypts? I'm sure my cousin Jorah will, once he finds me."

"No, my lady. I think it would be safer, of course, and I do hope that you have at least considered it. But I will not tell you or force you to go. You are Lady Mormont, after all. Here you stand."

"Here we stand," she echoes, looking out over the battlements. The sky is now mostly darkened, with only a brilliant flare of yellow and orange along the western horizon to show that night was not upon them _quite _yet.

"We are the watchers on the wall," says Sno.

"The sword in the darkness," she says. His hand finds the hilt of Longclaw, the ancestral Mormont sword. Lyanna suddenly feels a warmth towards Jon Snow. She has never been particularly impressed that he had been her grandfather's steward and chosen successor, as she hardly knew the Old Bear outside of rare letters. But he had chosen Snow, just as she had. Perhaps he had a Targaryen father, but he was Stark enough for her.

"The shield that guards the realm," they murmur together.

The sun slipped below the horizon.

"We're all members of the Night's Watch now," says Snow, a slightly sardonic edge to his tone.

"I hope I die a good death," says Lyanna, suddenly.

Snow startles. "I hope you don't die at all, my lady."

"I don't want to die. And I think we'll win," she says firmly. "But if I do die, I want it to be a good death. I want to be remembered as a fighter."

"I have no doubt that you will, Young Bear," says Snow seriously.

She startles slightly at the nickname, before favoring him with a true smile. She has grown to like this man that she crowned. He is older than her, but perhaps if they survive, they might even be friends one day. "Good. That sounds good."

"I must go, my lady. Now that night has fallen, there is more work to be done. I'm sure you need to see to your men," says Snow.

"Aye," she says. "No doubt they are lost without me. If I don't see you before the battle begins, then this is goodbye. Farewell, Jon Snow."

"Farewell, Lyanna the Young Bear. I hope to see you at dawn."

They bow, and Snow leaves. She remains on the parapet a moment longer. A watcher on the wall, like her grandfather. A fighter, like her namesake. The Young Bear, the fiercest woman in all of Westeros.

She likes the sound of that.

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Dawn the next morning is bright and beautiful. The Night King has been beaten. Winterfell is triumphant.

Lyanna Mormont is not there to see it. They find her broken body in the courtyard, near the massive corpse of a giant. Her dragonglass dagger is in its eye.

They will sing songs of the Young Bear, who at three and ten gave her life to slay a giant wight during the Battle of Ice and Fire. A true warrior of the North

She died a good death.

And now her watch is ended.

…

END


End file.
